An Untimely Frost (7 page)

Virginia nodded. “You mean the Old Alton Road that goes to Mulberry Grove, or Shake Rag as it was called back in the days it was a stagecoach stop.” Seeing the question in Lilly's eyes, she said, “When there was someone for the stage to pick up, the owners would send out a servant to wave a rag to stop the stage.”

Lilly laughed. “Well, the property I'm talking about is out that way. The owner moved away several years ago, and I've been sent to look into the matter.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Lilly told her. “The place is called Heaven's Gate. It belonged to a Reverend Harold Purcell. Perhaps you remember him?”

The suddenly closed expression that replaced Virginia Holbrook's interest and good humor made Lilly feel as if a door had been slammed in her face. She might be as unworldly as Pierce claimed, but even she realized that she had crossed some barrier she shouldn't have.

“I'm afraid I don't,” Mrs. Holbrook said in a voice that had lost all vestige of friendliness. Without another word, she turned away and took a key from the wall peg. “Here's your key, Miss Long. We began serving lunch at eleven, if you care to eat with us, though there are several other places in town to get a bite if you prefer. I hope you enjoy your stay in Vandalia.”

C
HAPTER
12

A
few minutes later, Lilly shut the door to her room and tossed her gloves, hat, and bag to the bed. She was stunned by Virginia Holbrook's brush-off. What was it about the mention of Heaven's Gate that turned Mrs. Holbrook from a pleasant, smiling woman to a cold, uncommunicative one?

Lilly stripped off her traveling dress and searched for fresh clothes. As she pulled things from her trunk, her stomach gave a sudden loud rumble.

She was too hungry to try to figure out anything at the moment. Breakfast had been an apple she'd purchased from the young news butch who'd been peddling not only yesterday's newspapers, but everything from cigars to sandwiches and dime novels. Whether or not there were other places to eat, she would definitely take advantage of the dining room downstairs.

Like the women of Vandalia, Lilly chose to dress sensibly, choosing a warm red wool dress. Like Mrs. Partridge, Lilly made the scandalous decision to forgo her corset. After all, she was a working woman, not a fashion plate.

Mrs. Holbrook was nowhere to be seen when Lilly passed through the lobby to the dining room. A young man, one of the sons who'd taken her luggage upstairs, was now behind the desk. Lilly entered a large eating area. A hall tree, adorned with several hats ranging from bowlers to the style favored by the western cowboys, stood just inside the door.

A family with two small boys occupied one table, and a lone man reading a newspaper sat at another. A long counter held six seats, and a large, framed piece of slate hung on the wall behind it. The day's menu was written with chalk in plain uppercase print. Other signage proclaimed that the hotel proudly served Chase & Sanborn coffee and Heinz ketchup.

The lunch choices made her mouth water. Steak or ham with gravy, potatoes, and a choice of several vegetables. Dessert was apple or rhubarb pie.

One of the counter seats was occupied by a rugged-looking individual wearing dungarees, boots, and spurs. No doubt the Stetson belonged to him. Two farmer types sat nearby. All were attacking plates of ham, potatoes, beans, and thick slabs of buttered bread along with mugs of steaming coffee. Lilly's stomach gave another growl.

A pretty golden-haired girl who looked like a younger version of Virginia Holbrook was taking payment from a well-dressed man. It seemed the entire family worked in the hotel. The paying customer was wearing a gray sack coat and matching vest. His collar was pressed into sharp wings, and a newly fashionable ascot tie of burgundy silk pierced with a pearl stickpin was a perfect match to the square handkerchief peeking from his breast pocket. His Alberts were polished to a high sheen. A banker, Lilly thought.

“Wonderful as usual, sweet pea,” the man said to the young girl.

“Thank you, Grandfather,” she replied, ringing up his purchase on the cash register. “I'll be sure and tell Sadie.”

Seeing Lilly in the doorway, she said, “I'll be with you in just a moment, ma'am. Please have a seat.”

Lilly chose a table near the window. From her vantage point she could see the horses across the street and the livery stable on the corner. A newborn foal gamboled next to his mother, who munched contentedly on a pile of hay.

“I'm sorry to make you wait, ma'am.” The young girl, who looked to be in her late teens, filled the glass with water from a crockery pitcher. The apron covering the front of her simple blue shirtwaist was the same pristine white as the tablecloth and napkins.

“That's not a problem,” Lilly assured her with a smile. “I've been watching the horses.”

“That young one likes to raise a ruckus,” the waitress told her with a smile. She pulled a small, lined tablet and stubby pencil from her apron pocket. “What can I get for you today?”

“I'll have what they're having,” Lilly said, indicating the two men at the counter.

“Certainly. Would you like coffee or a glass of milk with that?”

“Coffee, please, and some Borden's condensed milk if you have it.” Since trying the thick, sweet, canned milk some months back, Lilly had grown extremely fond of putting it in her coffee.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but all we have is fresh cream.”

“That will do nicely,” Lilly assured her.

“I'll have it out in a few minutes,” the young woman assured her. “By the way, my name is Helen, if you need me.”

“Thank you, Helen. I'm Lilly. Lilly Long. Do your parents own the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Your mother checked me in earlier. You look just like her.”

“Really? I think she's beautiful.”

“She is,” Lilly said. “And so are you.”

Helen blushed and disappeared through the door to the kitchen with Lilly's order.

While Lilly waited, she watched the two small boys with their parents. They were adorable. One was the spitting image of his father, the other a miniature portrait of his mother. She watched the woman wipe a milk mustache from the younger child's lips and saw her mouth curve into an indulgent smile as she raised her contented gaze to her husband. He returned the smile and reached out to touch her hand.

The happiness and love they shared left Lilly strangely sorrowful. As she had often of late, she considered love and its various incarnations: puppy love, familial love, and the rare, deep and abiding love a man and wife might share. She'd pondered the ways those kinds of love affected a person's attitudes and actions. Then she considered how the word was misused and distorted to cover baser feelings, like lust and covetousness and selfishness, just so that a person could have his way . . . like her mother's killer and Timothy.

How could a person be certain that the other was telling the truth about his emotions? She hadn't been able to discern Timothy's true feelings. Instead, she'd allowed herself to be caught up in his charming personality and pretty, lying words, mistaking her infatuation for the real thing. Could she ever trust herself to recognize truth in the future?

Without warning, a memory of the man she'd bumped into on the train slipped into her mind. Still smarting from Tim's betrayal and cranky from lack of proper rest, she'd responded to the stranger's simple act of kindness with anger. That wasn't at all like her.

Before she could give the matter any more thought, Helen approached with Lilly's lunch. It tasted as good as it smelled and looked, and even though she had a healthy appetite, she'd known when she placed the order that it would be far too much. Still, she did her best by it. She was finishing her third cup of coffee when Helen returned to check on her. The dining room had cleared of other occupants while Lilly enjoyed her meal.

“Was everything satisfactory?”

“It was delicious,” she said. “Just more than I could manage.”

“No dessert, then?”

Lilly gave a soft groan. “Not right now.”

“Then I'll take your money at the register when you're finished,” Helen said, whisking up the plate.

Lilly finished her coffee and went to pay. “Would it be a lot of trouble for you to make me a copy of my bill? I need it for my employer.” She didn't intend to do anything to jeopardize her new job—not intentionally, anyway.

“Not at all. So you're here on business?” Helen asked as she began to write out a duplicate ticket. Like her mother, she seemed a bit surprised that Lilly was a working woman.

“Yes, I'm trying to locate someone who once lived here. Perhaps you could help.”

“Of course, if I can.”

“I need directions to the Harold Purcell property. Reverend Purcell. I have a client interested in purchasing the place.” Seeing the girl's frown of confusion, Lilly added, “It was called Heaven's Gate.”

“Oh, yes,” Helen said with a nod. “I know who you mean. I never knew the family. They left town before I was born. My brother says one of his friends told him the preacher stole some money or something and fled in the middle of the night. No one in town talks about them much.”

So William had been right about the reverend. She would have to talk to the local law and see if she could find out more about the theft, but not until she'd had a look at the property.

“Do you know where the house is located?”

“I know that it's a few miles west of town, going toward Mulberry Grove, but I've never been there. My mother has forbidden it.”

Not an unusual parental demand for a place deserted for some twenty years, Lilly thought. “Thank you, Helen. Do they rent buggies at the livery stable across the street?”

Helen's eyes grew wide. “Of course, but you aren't going out there, are you?”

“That was the plan, yes.”

“Alone?” Helen asked. Her face wore an expression of disbelief and alarm.

Lilly was touched by the girl's concern. “I need to have a look at it for my client. Is there some reason I shouldn't go?”

“Well . . .” Helen's face flushed red. “I know it's a silly notion, but everyone in town claims Heaven's Gate is haunted.”

The statement was as much of a shock as hearing that the reverend had stolen from his flock. Lilly suppressed a smile. At least a ghost added a bit of spark to an otherwise tedious assignment. Neither William nor his journal had mentioned a ghost. That tidbit—however ridiculous—plus the fact that the reverend had stolen from his congregation certainly explained why the townspeople were so reticent about discussing him.

“Haunted,” she mused, tucking the expense receipt into her reticule. “And why would anyone believe that?”

Wide-eyed, Helen placed her elbows on the counter and leaned toward Lilly, eager to spin her tale. “Two boys who lived nearby were playing in the woods behind the house just after the reverend and his family came up missing and heard this eerie sound coming from inside the house . . . like a wounded animal . . . or a haint.”

Helen gave a slight shudder. “I really wish you'd think twice before going out there alone.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Lilly told her, “but I must do my job, and besides, I am a pretty fair shot.”

Helen's eyes widened. Lilly wondered if the girl was shocked by the fact that Lilly carried a gun or that she was handy with it.

Helen shook her head. “That won't do you much good against a ghost, Miss Long.”

“I suppose you're right,” Lilly said with a smile. “In that case, I promise to be very careful.”

Grudgingly, Helen told Lilly that someone at the livery stable could tell her how to get to the abandoned property. Lilly left with another thank you. Seeing the apprehension lurking in the younger woman's eyes, she added, “If I'm not back by suppertime, you might send someone to come looking for me.”

Helen nodded. “I just remembered that Billy Bishop is working at Ireland's these days. He was one of the boys who heard the ghost's howling. He can certainly give you directions as well as tell you more about the ghost.”

Wonderful!
Lilly thought with a little thrill of excitement. Detecting wasn't hard at all. It was just a matter of asking the right people the right questions. Talking up Helen had been a boon. The young girl had given her one eye witness so to speak, as well as a bit of interesting information. Perhaps this assignment wouldn't take long to wrap up, and she could go on to more challenging assignments.

C
HAPTER
13

B
ack in her room again, Lilly took off her narrow-toed shoes and pulled on a pair of men's socks and some scuffed boots she wore when she and Pierce went horseback riding or shooting in the country.

Common sense told her that she should present her case to the sheriff before going off on her own, but Helen's story had kindled her curiosity and a burning need to visit the house that had been home to the notorious Purcell family. She also wanted to do as much snooping around as possible on her own before informing anyone about her employer. News that she was with the Pinkertons might scare people even more, so she would visit Heaven's Gate this afternoon and pay the sheriff a visit first thing in the morning.

Since the March day felt as cold as wintertime, she wore gloves and her heavy red cloak with its warm lining in case the day grew cooler later. Pierce always said one should try to be prepared for the unexpected, so she stuffed some money for the horse and buggy into a pocket along with matches and a flint wrapped in oilcloth, tied with a length of twine. The other pocket held her Remington over and under derringer and a handful of .41 caliber bullets. With her purse hidden in a compartment of her trunk, she was ready to start her assignment.

Billy Bishop was a husky man, somewhere on the shy side of thirty. As he was finishing hitching up a pleasing-looking chestnut to an open buggy, Lilly asked for directions to the Purcell property.

Bishop didn't answer for long seconds. When he finished rigging up the horse, he stepped around the front of the animal and stood looking down at her, his arms crossed over his brawny chest. “I don't mean to be poking my nose into your business, ma'am, but why would you be asking for directions to that evil place?”

Lilly extended her hand. Bishop's massive paw swallowed hers. “My name is Lilly Long. I'm trying to locate the former owners.”

“Billy Bishop.” The stable hand pumped her arm up and down. “Well, you won't find hide nor hair of them around here. They lit out after the preacher stole the church's money and ain't been heard from since.”

“That's what I was told at the hotel. I was also told that you and a friend were playing near the house and heard something you thought was a . . . ghost.” Lilly clamped her teeth down on her lower lip to keep from smiling. “I was wondering if you could tell me more about that.”

“Not much to tell,” Bishop said with a shake of his shaggy head. “Hank Gruber and I were playing out in the woods behind that big ole house, and we heard just what you said.”

Despite the warmth of the sunshine, Bishop shuddered. Clearly what he'd heard or thought he'd heard had made an impression, if recalling it twenty years later could evoke such a response.

“It was a terrible wailing sound that come from inside,” he said, his troubled gaze meeting Lilly's. “But it was faint and weak sounding. Like some animal was in terrible pain and dying, or”—he blushed blood red—“maybe mating. Beggin' your pardon, Miss Long.”

“That's quite all right,” Lilly assured him. “Are you certain the sound came from inside the house? Is there a possibility that it
was
an injured or mating animal somewhere in the woods?”

Bishop gave a hard negative shake of his head. “No, ma'am. It come from the house. I'm sure of it.”

“What did you and your friend do?”

He looked away and gave a shrug of embarrassment. “Me and Hank was scared to death. We hightailed it to my house as fast as we could and told my mama. When Daddy come in from the fields, she told him, and he got his shotgun and went to fetch Hank's dad. They went over there to check on things. When they couldn't rouse anyone to the door, they went out to the barn and saw the horses and buggy were gone. They figured the reverend and his family had just gone off somewhere.

“Daddy said he knew he shouldn'ta done it since he was brought up better, but they went inside the house to see if they could find anything amiss.”

Bishop swallowed hard. “There were bloody sheets on the bed in one of the downstairs bedrooms and a basin of bloody water in the kitchen. It scared them so bad they lit out like scalded cats. They figured someone had been killed in that bed, and they didn't want to stay and see if whoever done it was still hanging around. As they were leavin', they heard the same sound me and Hank heard . . . real faint-like . . . like it was comin' outta the walls or something.

“Figurin' it was the ghost of whoever had been killed, they skedaddled outta there and went to tell the sheriff. That's when they found out that the reverend had left town with all the church's money. The sheriff allowed that Purcell and his family had flown the coop, gone somewhere far away so they wouldn't get caught.”

That part certainly made sense, Lilly thought. But what about the bloody bed, and the ghost . . . ?

“Did the sheriff go out and look around?”

“Oh, sure,” Billy said with a nod. “Sheriff Mayhew's a good lawman. He was pretty new to the job back then, but him and a coupla deputies went out the next day and looked things over real good. They said it looked like the Purcells had left in some kind of all-fired hurry. Saw the bed and the bloody water and figured, like Daddy said, that somebody was slaughtered there and the killer tried to clean himself up.”

Slaughtered.
Bishop's choice of words brought a sickening picture to mind. “Did he try to find Reverend Purcell to question him?”

“Sure did,” the livery hand said, running a gentle palm over the gelding's rump. “All we know is that Mrs. Purcell and her daughter didn't leave here by train, and the sheriff didn't have any luck picking up the trail of the missing rig, since a gully washer the night before wiped out any tracks it might have made. He had no idea where Purcell and his family went, so he sent telegrams to all the towns from Saint Louie to Chicago, but nothing ever turned up.” He scratched his head. “It's a puzzle, that's what it is.”

“Does Hank Gruber still live around here?”

Bishop shook his head. “Died a couple of years ago with the fever, but he'd just tell you the same thing I did.”

Lilly hid her disappointment. “What about the sheriff? Mayhew, wasn't it?”

“He's still here. Still sheriff. His office is over in the old courthouse.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bishop,” Lilly said with a slight smile. “You've been a great help. Now, if you could just tell me how to get to Heaven's Gate, I'd greatly appreciate it.”

His eyes widened in astonishment. “You still want to go out there? Alone?”

As touched as she was by his concern, Lilly was thankful that she was neither a fanciful nor superstitious person. “I do.”

“Don't seem right for a woman to be doin' what you are.”

“I'm very qualified, Mr. Bishop,” Lilly told him, knowing she was far from it. “I'll be fine.”

“All right, then,” he said grudgingly. “You want to take the Alton Road toward Mulberry about five miles or so. There'll be some houses along the way, and you'll cross a wooden bridge over a creek. A ways past there you'll see a big dead tree near the turnoff road. Used to be a sign there, but I ain't been out that way in ages, so it may have rotted down.”

“Are there any other houses once I turn off the main road?”

He shook his head. “No, ma'am. Once you turn off, it's a dead end.”

* * *

The man in the dark suit frowned as the woman guided her rented rig down the street. He glanced up at the snow clouds above him and cursed beneath his breath. There was little doubt where she was headed. Why in the world she'd take off with the weather worsening by the minute was beyond him. Still, he had no choice but to follow.